


Of Catcher and of Caught

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Flying, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16735581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: David gets to show off.





	Of Catcher and of Caught

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mr-finch (soubriquet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/gifts).



> For the purposes of fluff, we're pretending that the events detailed in Mr-Finch's fic, 'Hanging On' just didn't happen. Frank's fine, he's fine, it's all good.

Were he not watching it happen, Frank would not believe it were possible.

The thing about David is that he’s almost intentionally unthreatening. Unemposing. He is unimpressive by any physical merit, at least until you really study him, because that’s the point of David’s bad posture and crooked smile. He is, with his wild hair and piercing eyes, decidedly attractive, but looking at him, no one would expect any kind of athleticism. Perhaps, given reason, he might run, but otherwise..

“So, in case I look like an idiot at first, I wanna remind you that I haven’t been able to do this in over a year on account of being dead,” he says, looking at Frank while he stretches out his wings, flexing his spine. Frank just grunts a noncommittal noise, trying not to be obvious in the way his eyes skirt over the lean lines of David’s body, the breadth and deep power of his wingspan.

They are alone in this little section of upstate park. Sarah had meant to join them, but she’d been called into work unexpectedly, and the kids were at some summer camp they always went to. If Frank’s appreciation of David’s form was showing, at least there wasn’t an audience to note it.

“Also, like, I was never a professional, right? Strictly for fun. So it’s not gonna be like --”

“David, I’m not makin’ you do this.” Frank points out, locking eyes. “I don’t expect anything. If you’re getting nervous, I ain’t gonna say anything if you wanna just sit around here for a while.”

He wouldn’t, either. It was a pretty spot, quiet, peaceful. David was the one who wanted to show off, Frank was just along for the ride. 

The shy, slow smile he gets tells him David is reading into his words, finding the hints of consideration and affection in them that Frank rarely voices explicitly. That’s fine; David had learned quickly how to suss out Frank’s intent from his usual flat growl. Even now, after everything, David insisted Frank was a good man.

Curls bounce when David shakes his head, framing his face as they settle in that way that makes Frank want to sweep David’s hair back, tuck it away from his eyes. “Nah, man, I just don’t want you to expect anything fancy. I’m actually, uh… I’m pretty excited. So!”

He claps his hands and stretches his wings back out, full-span. They’re impressive, outlandishly beautiful in Frank’s opinion, his feathers healthy and glossy. 

“So, obviously, they don’t have a dive tower here, but I’m not registered anymore anyway, so even if they had, they wouldn’t let me use it. So we’re gonna go caveman style for take off, okay?”

David has a habit of explaining himself when he’s building up to something. Frank just nods -- they’d already discussed the logistics, and Frank’s concern was mostly allayed by Sarah’s insistence that David had used this spot before and really did know what he was doing. 

Of course, that didn’t change the fact that if anything went wrong, David would plummet like a stone and crash into the ground below with only the trees at the bottom of the cliff to break his fall.

Frank decided not to think about that.

“My record is a little more than fifteen minutes. Like I said, not a professional, but at one point I was a damn good amateur. I’ll probably look clumsy at first, and this time is gonna be way shorter than that, but don’t freak out. Just watch, okay?”

For David, Frank is more than willing to do watch. He’s never been super invested in the sport -- like ballet, it requires both natural talent and innate art that usually just left Frank feeling clumsy and awkward to witness, inadequate in a weird way. But the idea of David…

Well.

“Okay! See you in a minute.”

He backs up several paces and then takes off at a sprint for the cliff ledge. Frank ambles after him, trying not to let his heart race at the sight of David flinging himself off the edge. Only when he’s out of sight does Frank let himself run, racing to look over the ledge, half expecting the worst, mind already ordering the actions he’d take if this became an emergency.

He sees instead David, wings spread in glorious fullness, gliding over the treetops below. From this angle, Frank can really appreciate the span of those wings, the shape of them, the strength. When they begin to beat, slowly giving David the altitude he needs, Frank feels his own wings flutter in something like sympathy. He imagines the ache David must already feel, the pull of under-used muscles, the strain as he turns into the wind. 

His heart is in his throat, his face tense with something between apprehension and awe. Faintly, as David catches the updraft he needs and begins to really soar, he hears the other man whoop in exhilaration. 

David flies plainly, but with a natural talent for it. Even a layman like Frank can pick up on that -- despite his warning, David at no point looks clumsy or uncertain. He looks gorgeous, wings working, straining to carry him, his body held in a perfect dynamic line. When he gets enough altitude to fly above Frank, Frank twists to follow him. 

There are no fancy maneuvers, of that David was completely honest, but Frank still feels underprepared for how amazing it is to witness. People talk about making something look effortless, but in this it’s because it doesn’t that it so impresses Frank. David is working himself to the very limit of his tolerance, his flight powerful and glorious but very obviously  _ work _ . 

All told, David is in the air for only a little more than five minutes. To Frank, it’s a weird stretch of time both fleeting and eternal. He feels, strangely, like he could watch David all afternoon and not be bored, but he’s also desperate for his return the safety and solidity of earth. Frank, after all, can do little to protect David while he’s aloft. 

When at last David lands, he stumbles, almost trips, and his wings sag, too tired to even fold to proper resting position. Frank braces David by the shoulder, catches him when he stumbles a few steps forward, and laughs with him as he droops into Frank’s arms. He’s sweaty and panting harshly, skin hot to the touch, wings trembling. Frank helps ease him to the ground, and watches as he carefully, moving with the aching slowness of overworked muscles, sprawls himself out on the grass.

“Oh god,” David pants, rolling over onto his stomach gracelessly as soon as he’s capable of moving, letting his wings fall  bonelessly to either side of him. “Leave me here, Frank. I’m done. Never moving again.”

Kneeling to his side, Frank lets his own wings sag, tired just from watching David. He pets lightly over the soft feathers that trail between David’s wings, smoothing his hand down David’s spine and feeling the muscles flutter under his palm. Exhaustion and exhilaration make David pliant, so Frank can gently rub him down, drawing those tired, half-laughing sounds from him. 

Digging into the feathers, smoothing his fingers along the lines of David’s back, Frank settles on something between preening and massaging. Sweat makes the small feathers running along his spine stick to his skin, and they fluff up as they dry, and there’s something about having David sort of melting into the warm grass on a sunny Sunday in July that Frank is surprised to find so appealing. 

“Man, if this is what I get for tearing every muscle in my body, I can definitely deal with that.”

Frank chuckles, less because the sentiment is funny and more because David wants him to. 

There was a time when touching anyone like this would have felt impossible. The easy acceptance of trusting proximity, the willingness to touch. It wasn’t who he was, maybe never had been. But David had accepted his hands on him that first time and every time after, never flinching, never seeming to fear him in any real way. 

Now, with David at least, a gentle touch comes natural. Strange, but no more strange than the idea that David -- scrawny, geeky David -- could truly fly. 

“Quit whining,” he says, ruffling David’s hair just to make him growl a little noise at the sudden roughness. “You didn’t tear shit.”


End file.
